


Unquiet Intervention

by MissAtropine



Series: Malice Without End [2]
Category: Sweeney Todd (2007)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Cannibalism, F/M, Gothic, Love, Melodrama, Murder, Romance, Unconventional Relationship, Victorian, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 16:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13438290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAtropine/pseuds/MissAtropine
Summary: Act 2 of 2 [Romantic Horror] The barber, the baker, the... unquiet undertaker. After fleeing the macabre turn of events in London, the barber and his baker decide to settle for a fresh start in a thriving seaside town. The only thing is, evil seems to cling to their skin like some kind of  wretched disease. Perhaps evil does indeed, come at a price?A second Dark Sweenett to satisfy any addictions you may have acquired.





	1. Terrible Things

Only Heaven knew what had truly caused the elusive riot that had erupted along the streets surrounding 186 Fleet Street on that fearful night in late January.

Or perhaps, it was  _Hell?_

No one knew of the maddening hunger that infected the minds of the loyal customers that had once ritualistically eaten at Mrs Lovett's Pie Emporium. But those unfortunate souls who had happened upon the scenes of the public feasting on one another until there was nothing left but  _bone..._ they soon quickly tried to escape the cobbles of Fleet Street.

Some were successful.

Others...  _not so much._

If anyone had even bothered to bat an eye, or had listened to those fighting their urges to tear off any human skin they came across, then the events of that fateful night may have turned out incredibly different.

But of course, nobody listened.

The authorities, with their crease-less navy-blue uniforms and tarnished medals, all loaded their muskets without warning and shot down any irrational-looking civilian who approached their make-shift barricades.

The sickly streets became more like a bloodbath that would often be seen at the after-math of a pointless battle, rather than some kind of outcry or disagreement. Rivers of red trickled down the hollow nooks between cobbles and flooded aimlessly down the side-gutters.

The scatter of motionless bodies made it clear that there wasn't a single survivor left - they were either half-eaten, or had been completely peppered with bullets.

The smell of gunpowder still clung to the air, like the sullen reminder of cowardice that never wished to leave. The streets, for once, were completely silent. The feeling of grief and shock seemed to cling to the smog-filled sky that night, like even nature knew of the terrors that had occurred.

It appeared that the city itself, was in a feeble state of mourning.

* * *

Slide.

Draw.

Strike.

_Fire._

If one was to hypnotically stare into its very lucid, amber-ish core, it would likely destroy every scrap of existence that a being once knew.

And that's why no one ever found a single  _scrap_ of evidence that actually pointed to the many people of London being stark-raving  _cannibals._ The fact that the authorities and papers called out the travesty as nothing more than a  _riot_ of angered citizens... well, it provided the  _perfect_ cover.

But of course, the source of the towering flames hadn't just been some minor repercussion of a so-called 'riot' breaking out. If anyone had truly cared enough, they would have realised that the fire had been  _purposely_ started...

... from the dingiest depths of Eleanor Lovett's bake-house.

The bodies of deceased feral customers were the first to be swallowed up by the unholy flames, and the swift spreading of the fire created a convenient wall between the lifeless shop above... and the filthy sewers down below.

Noxious flesh-melting fumes and ominous swirls of black smoke engulfed the entire of Mrs Lovett's former establishment, along with the majority of buildings and slum streets close-by. The path of flames consumed every flesh-stripper and innocent within its destructive path, until nothing was left but thin scatterings of ash and cinders.

All that  _death,_ all that  _destruction..._

... formed from a single flickering match.

Even the arsonist themselves was struggling to get away from the path of ruthless flames they had created. The sewers had been their only possibility of survival.

Thick, gashed leather boots smacked against the ground as the culprit speedily snatched at their chance to escape. Bodies were still lodged in the side-gutters and awaited the arrival of the warm licks of untamed fire, which wasn't all too far away now...

The perpetrator could hear the lull in the chaos and panic in the streets now that nothing but sinister silence flooded in through the iron drains above. Their footsteps slapped across the thin layer of sewer water rhythmically, their movements growing faster and faster with each of their anxious breaths.

The echoes of voices bounced between the pipe-lined walls - though it wasn't clear whether it was something real, or completely imagined. The person seemed to be on high alert due to their desperation for escape... then again, perhaps it was just the disturbing surroundings of the sewers alone that was messing with their mind.

As they fled further and further away from the spitting orange of the hungry flames, they delved deeper into the desolate, decrepit tunnels beneath the city of London.

The eerie voices seemed to get louder and more distorted, so much so, that the person let out a sharp intake of breath and pressed their bloodied hands to their ears. They squinted their eyes, wishing for the tremendous noises to stop. Somehow, they managed to keep on dashing forward.

The flames were fast approaching now... so it was only logical for the person to start darting their bloodshot eyes about, looking for a hatch - or rather  _anything_ \- to escape the hell that was the London sewer system. They knew the map of the tunnels like the back of their hand... and therefore, knew that there was no chance of  _outrunning_  the blazing fire.

The scent of burning had mixed into the sewer-stench of decay now, and for that they could only choke harshly, sensing that the deadly smoke would soon enthusiastically fill their lungs.

The viper-like whispers they'd been deafened by, soon eased out of their eardrums, like each soul had gotten sick of tormenting them with incoherent mutterings. Their hands dropped from their ears in order so that they could swing their arms in time to their strides, yet their eyes narrowed again once they realised that the voices had only been replaced with the loud snapping of the rampant fire behind them instead.

_Panic set in._

They brayed their tired legs harder, faster. Their pants grew harsh and ragged, their wide grey eyes piercing every wisp of smoke through the dark, hollow tunnel ahead of them. Escape seemed futile, but they kept on running, regardless of what they believed.

What they  _knew._

The rusty, copper pipes flew by either side of their peripheral vision, cutting into their focus like it was a deliberate act of disorientation.

Perhaps this was it. This was their punishment after everything they'd endured, everything they'd  _committed._

But this couldn't be the end.

Not now. They'd barely just begun.

There was no way they were giving up this easily.

They'd already fought  _fearlessly_...

... there was no reason why they couldn't fight again.


	2. Roots

Settling down in the town of Blackpool had been far easier than either barber or baker could have imagined.

To their surprise, there were a hefty number of new developments that had been built on the curve of the coastline... the town itself was upcoming, but appeared to be fairly deserted now that it was early February. Given that the winter months brought shivering winds and icy showers, no person in their right mind would brave the seaside.

Just a few unhappy sleeps after hurriedly arriving there, they'd ended up with a terrace house which was only a short walk away from the loud bustle of the bay. Eleanor had been slightly disappointed that there hadn't been any houses on the sea-front... but in the end, was grateful that their new home was set back and thankfully out of the way of any prying eyes.

The paperwork for their finances and rent would still be processing at the bank for a while, considering that their new landlord was currently  _'Away On Business'._ That fact alone, would have appeared  _suspicious_ to any bystander, but both Mrs Lovett and Mr Todd were thankful for the landlord's absence. After all, they could write any old thing down on their forms... so there was no harm in pretending that they were already married - they wouldn't even have to face their proprietor or put up a mask of deviance, it was considerably  _easier_ than they had expected.

As soon as they both found themselves at the foot of their new doorstep, with a doe-eyed Toby (who was still contently using Eleanor's coat as a safety blanket by wrapping it around him) reluctantly on their trail, the curtains of every other house on the street seemed to twitch. While Sweeney had been oblivious to the spying neighbours, it was Eleanor that felt the urge to look back over her shoulder - she could sense beady eyes on her, and couldn't wait to get inside their new home just to get away from them.

In London she would have just rolled her eyes at her nosy neighbours, but this place was completely new to her, as were the snooping strangers. Already, Eleanor Lovett felt that she was silently being alienated.

Luckily, once she turned her attention back to their shiny front door, she could only smile at the sight of Sweeney now ardently hurrying through it, their make-do bags slung over his shoulder. She knew he was keen on settling down somewhere. Or perhaps, keen to find somewhere to  _hide_... in his mind they were still on the run, so having a reliable place to stay made it a lot simpler.

Once she was inside, she felt like she'd entered some kind of twisted  _mirage._ The house, at first, seemed a lot more cramped than she was used to... but she realised that in some ways, it might have ended up being a lot more cosy. The walls were papered with various faded patterns of tainted silvers and greys - it couldn't quite be described as  _inspiring,_ but she certainly thought that it was better than that half-burnt stuff she'd had on her walls back on Fleet Street.

It was like walking into an uninspiring monochrome world, where everything from the bedrooms upstairs, to the parlour, kitchen and dining room downstairs, was designed for nothing but practicality.  _She couldn't help being reminded of someone..._

The fireplace was yet to be blackened with soot, the stove yet to be lit, the bookshelf yet to be filled, the bed-covers yet to be rumpled. In short, the place screamed that it was dying for occupants, and to know that they were the first to occupy this particular house, made her smile slightly. Not many people had the chance to live in a completely new build.

Having said that, it was a house that wasn't quite home just yet. But she could sense potential, and little did she know, that so could Mr Todd.

Having said that, over that first week of settling in, he'd been an absolute  _nightmare..._ paranoid, some might say.

Paranoid was an  _understatement._

He'd been more distant than usual - she'd hardly see him all day and then he'd suddenly appear for food, or slip under the bed-sheets beside her when the clock's needle was almost marking midnight. She thought nothing of it, being the man that he was, he was probably off  _sulking_ until god-knows what hour.

But when the second week beckoned to begin, his actions became more apparent and oddly suspicious.

As Sweeney Todd pushed on, with what Eleanor presumed to be  _dire_ ailments to the house every here and there, make-shift  _mechanisms_ started to appear. Mechanisms that were cleverly concealed, and in such numbers that Eleanor couldn't help feeling slightly bewildered. She was clueless as to what had brought all of his frenzied paranoia on - if they had settled closer to London, then she would have understood. She could only presume that he didn't trust the town of Blackpool one bit. The two of them had only settled there for a week so far, without talking to another soul, of course - there was no way that he could have made a fair judgement about the place yet.

But apparently he'd made up his mind... he absolutely  _hated_ the place already.

Eleanor wasn't one to say anything, despite her subconscious knowing that his paranoid actions were getting slightly out of hand. On this particular day, he'd been working for hours on end, upstairs in the attic, making god-awful loud sounds with the blunt butt of his hammer - naturally she'd decided against questioning him. Then again, she'd supposed that he had to cater to his violent tendencies somehow, so she'd settled on leaving him be.

She had no idea what the hell the man was up to, but she was glad of his company now that it was into the early hours of the evening. He was still busy fixing up the fireplace with something or other... it was more than a little worrying that she wasn't even verbally questioning him about it. Then again, she  _was_ internally slightly unnerved but she didn't seem to care either way now that she was in his presence.

She was sprawled out in the most comfortable position she could find over the leather settee - which had been one of about ten items that had already been inside the house when they'd first arrived. Internally, Eleanor was thrilled that such a comfy piece of furniture was now hers, it was a luxury item that she'd never dreamed of ever actually owning.

Then again, she'd merely  _dreamed_ of being with the demon barber not so many months ago.

And look at the two of them now.

She leaned on her side, dark jade skirts splayed and auburn hair messily trailing down her shoulder-blades, her droopy eyelids gave away that she was slightly intoxicated by the sight of the barber before her.

He was crouched down with the sleeves of his off-white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the skin of his forearms coated with thick smudges of charcoal. His black hair was unkempt more than usual and the odd lock had twisted out from the rest of his hair to frame his face. He had one of his arms lodged up the chimney, violently chiselling away at brick and concrete. He gave out grunts of effort now and again, which seemed to always cause Eleanor to bite her lip.

The two of them hadn't exactly been chattering all that much that first week they had moved there... but they may as well have been  _strangers_ on this particular day. She'd barely seen him for hours until he'd finally appeared when it was time for dinner, which was  _utterly_ typical of him.

Of course, he'd probably left whatever he wished to work on downstairs until last,  _purposely._ Either because it was in favour of him getting some supper with a glass of gin... or perhaps, something  _else._

Only faint embers of flickering candles sparsely lit up the parlour, causing dim shadows to slice across the floorboards. The atmosphere was somewhat snug despite the fact that it was deadly silent, not counting the metallic scraping of Sweeney's infernal  _chiselling,_ of course. It was surprising how dismal the room was, which was unfortunate because it seemed to conjure up memories of London, and Eleanor didn't want to remember anything about that place at that moment in time...

She'd done rather well forgetting about certain parts so far.

"These walls are a lot drearier now it's gotten so dark." she hinted, her sing-song voice laced with such airy positivity. "Nothin' that a bit'a lightin' wouldn't fix, eh dear?"

He completely ignored her, continuing to chisel away at the sullen grey brickwork. He'd heard her loud and clear - in all honesty, he preferred working in the dim light, it acted like some sort of dark blanket of concentration for him.

_The sooner he got this job done, the better._

"What's gotten inta you, Mr T?" she finally breathed, rolling her shoulder-blades back so that she could stretch her back slightly. "You've barely said a syllable all day, an' I've barely  _seen_ ya f'that matter. What've ya been gettin' up to?"

He grunted in response and there was a brief pause - but that was probably only to change the tool he was using. It was confirmed when the slight metallic scrape of the chisel dropping onto the concrete floor sounded out... Eleanor just rolled her eyes in slight annoyance.

His actions soon grated her nerves even more when he started thwacking his hammer against the brickwork instead of answering her. After the first few militant strikes, a few clumps of congealed soot fell down from the chimney breast, and onto his shoulders, to which he gave out one begrudging cough.

Her eyes trailed over him again as he continued to work, and internally she yearned for him to turn around and focus on her. She could feel herself getting slightly over-warm as she studied the slight outline of his back-muscles through the back of his shirt. She'd forgotten how strong he was at times, but she'd certainly remembered now that a hot wave swept over her.

"Can't all this 'ousework wait for t'night?" she huffed out, unknowingly wearing a sulk that gave away how much she craved his attention. Could he not just give all of it a rest for once?

Sweeney suddenly froze, neck and shoulders visibly tensed with irritation. The dense slam of a hammer's head hitting the cement floor of the fireplace only confirmed that for some reason, Eleanor had struck some kind of  _nerve._ As soon as she'd heard the hammer striking the ground, her brown eyes flickered towards him. Rage emanated from him,  _seethed_ out from him... and seeped into her, in the most pleasant waves imaginable.

She hid her mischievous smile for the time being, knowing that she couldn't possibly allow him to know how much she adored his anger. She loved how it  _consumed_ him, sent him stark-raving mad then soon, into a dark alluring frenzy that, in the end, was inescapable and unintentionally attractive.

After a few seconds where he appeared to pause in his tensed state, he swiftly turned himself around to face her, his black eyes narrowed in accusation. Sharp shadows fell across his pallid cheekbones, and suddenly, she felt unbelievably thankful for the weak candle-light. His mouth briefly twitched, like he was attempting to say what was on his mind... yet the sight of her affectionate eyes forced him to hinder his actions. The irritation was still present in his demeanour, but the fact he had already begun to shuffle out of the chimney breast gave away that she'd managed to lure him in.

She'd finally caught his attention.

It had been quite a while since he'd stared at her with such blatant intensity. His obsidian eyes caused her heart to pound erratically - she hoped that he could hear her anticipation... perhaps if he did, his anger would subside.

As he advanced towards her, it was like time had slowed slightly. Eleanor dared not breathe in fears that doing such a thing would somehow stop him from stepping any closer.

She was suddenly glad that she had the settee beneath her to support herself, for her legs began to shake with pleasant apprehension. Even though her face began to flush pink she somehow managed to confidently meet his black eyes - she didn't even falter once he'd gotten a hell of a lot closer.

Without a word, he placed both hands over the pale skin of her shoulders - the feel of his hands over her bare skin was something she'd not felt for a while. A sigh escaped her. Even though he'd administered a slight push so that she'd fall backwards, his violent intention did not upset her. In fact, it  _excited_ her.

Her chest heaved with every deep intake of breath, her body splayed flat over the settee in a manner that could be seen as some kind of acceptance... or  _surrender._

He lowered himself down at a nonchalant pace, soon blatantly pressing himself over her. His expression was still cold with annoyance, but his eyes disclosed that he truly wanted to seek  _her._ And her alone.

He shuffled himself against her slowly, and she couldn't help fluttering her eyes as a consequence. An inquisitive frown touched upon his brow as one of his hands found its way to her side, brazenly sliding around her rib to fidget with her dress fastenings.

"The lad might 'ear..." she whispered worriedly, interrupting the comforting silence that had fallen between them. He narrowed his eyes at her, and sunk down her body slightly, deliberately brushing against her front.

"You can be  _quiet_ for me, pet, can't you?" he whispered against her earlobe, soon manipulating her to share his opinion by dipping his head down to part his lips over her neck. She whimpered as quietly as she could when his mouth opened further, his tongue gently lapping over her throat's pulsating flesh.

It was quite clear from the way he eagerly teased her that he wished to distract her from what she'd inquired. He didn't want her asking any more questions about what he'd been doing. The man  _revelled_ in being a great mystery at times... and he often did spiteful things to keep it that way.

She sighed out an undisputed  _"Yes"_ and as soon as he heard the answer he'd been waiting for, he carefully took his lips from her skin. He then slid himself over her a little more so that he could look at her more squarely.

They stared into one another's eyes, both of them suddenly reminded of their underlying darkness, how it latched onto them and chained them together.  _Bound_ them to a shared evil that only the two of them truly understood. It was hypnotic to study, because the two of them were both amazed how such simmering sin still presented itself before them. How even through all of the hectic escape from London, and of course, the gruesome scheme that had come before... they still awaited more chaos, so they could batter it away together like they were a couple who yearned for a battle with toxic destruction.

It was undeniably true that they may have been perfect for one another, but it seemed that it was the world around them that paid the price.

It was no wonder that they could peer at each other for so long... they were just getting lost in all that chaos all over again.

His face lowered closer to hers again so that his vacuous black irises could closely stare her brown eyes down like they were the most fascinating thing in the universe. To him, she was the most incredible woman he'd ever encountered... of course, he'd never  _tell_ her that.

At last, with nothing but the backing track of their slow, heavy breaths, their mouths finally pressed together. They kissed slowly, reluctantly allowing their eyelids to cover their eyes. Eleanor managed to reach one of her hands across her chest to tug at the collar of his shirt, forcing him to kiss her deeper. He winced and murmured slightly against her lips, like he was surprised by how eager she was... it was that, or he was internally  _bugged._ Yet he abided by her and reacted to her kisses more aggressively, tensing his body as he snatched hold of her free arm.

She whimpered as his hand closed around her wrist tightly, pinning her down to the glum leather that laid beneath her. The other continued what it had previously started and she could already feel the material of her dress loosening around her shoulders.

It was strange how a week without having her like this made such a difference to him. He realised that he'd unknowingly missed her, and for that reason alone, it was clear that he must have had something more worrying weighing on his mind. His behaviour had been overly stiff and quiet for a number of days, but Eleanor hadn't said a word about it.

She knew it was likely to be his mind still trying to process what had truly happened to his daughter back in London. After all, he'd had his child back one moment, then she'd outright sacrificed herself in the next.

It was no wonder that he'd distanced himself from Eleanor for a few days.

Yet he seemed  _perfectly_ capable of paying her attention now, therefore something within his warped mind must have come to terms with what had happened. She certainly wasn't  _complaining._

She arched her back upwards to make it easier for him to free her from her thick fabric prison. As his fingers grew more insistent against the clasps and laces, his growls of effort grew in volume. She murmured against his mouth in response and that only made his fingers work harder. Eventually, his patience had finally worn thin and he practically stripped the dress away from her skin once the last lace had been slackened.

She giggled into his mouth at his impatient actions, and he briefly took his lips away from her so that he could hear her glorious laughter ring out.

"What 'appened to bein'  _quiet?"_ he breathed by her ear, frowning at her like he was undeniably disappointed in her. Of course, she knew he was just playing games with her - in the end his playfulness only made her laugh even harder.

"I'll only be quiet when we're  _married."_ she shot back, whispering the last word like it was some kind of  _expletive_ to Sweeney's ears. His frown deepened and he took his hand from the back of her to hold himself up above her, just so he could look at her more directly... rather,  _authoritatively._

"We've only been 'ere a  _week_  and we've already got somewhere to  _live,_ Eleanor. What more do you want?" he replied sternly, yet his eyes still presented glints of amusement towards her. Even though she knew he was only poking fun at her, it still made her heart ache that little bit more than she would have liked.

All fun seemed to dry up for her there and then. When would he ever learn to stop messing whenever it came to the two of them and what they were to one another?

"I wanna know why you've been sabotagin' the 'ouse with god awful deathtraps, Mr T." she accidentally let slip, her eyes still staring straight into his without an ounce of consideration in the world. Internally she was scolding herself, she knew she'd waded into eminently murky waters with what she'd just admitted.

He hesitated and his playful demeanour cracked into something reminiscent of guilt. She couldn't quite decipher whether it was a  _mask_ or not... if it was, it was an extremely convincing one.

"Well we can't 'ave the boy gettin' out of 'ere of his own volition - "

She let out a loud huff of resentment before he could finish, and immediately reacted by shoving him off of her with all her might - which sent him flying across to the other end of the settee. His guilty expression had changed to one of confused anger when he realised that she was sitting back up to fasten her dress.

"What do you think you're doing?" he questioned, like he actually believed that the baker was somehow in the  _wrong._

"What do ya  _think?!_ I'm gonna go round this bleedin' 'ouse and get rid'a them all. Can't 'ave them everywhere, what if we end up 'avin'  _guests?!"_

 _"No."_ he merely answered in a threatening tone, catching deathly hold of her forearm just as she was in the middle of standing up. She fiercely fought his grip but he was too persuasive with his painful finger-pads. She reluctantly slung herself back down onto the settee and he immediately slid himself across to sit beside her, hand still gripping her arm in place tightly.

He studied her face with interest, noticing that her jaw was clenched to likely stop herself from saying something else that she really didn't think about properly. Her brown eyes leered at him with a sarcastic gleam, like she was just waiting for him to say something coarse about her - the infernal man  _always_ had a way of turning things around to blame her, or rather,  _shame_ her.

Eleanor could feel her snide response forming on the tip of her tongue - it appeared that her mind took a while to catch onto what her mouth was planning. And before her poor brain could register anything, the words finally sneaked out of her conniving mouth...

_"You're despicable."_

Sweeney's frown deepened as he considered her statement. The only thing that sprung to mind when he thought about  _her_ choice of words... was the word  _'pathetic'._

"Well you're  _insufferable."_ he mocked briskly, leaning in closer to her face like he'd expected her to flinch out of intimidation, but she didn't move a muscle.

"You're callous." she continued to provoke, which ended up being successful because he let out a growl of warning before he snatched hold of her bare shoulders. Her warm skin forced his mind to acknowledge his attraction to her for a brief second, before he shook his head and pretended like nothing had happened.

_"Bloody awkward wom - "_

" 'eartless." she interrupted softly, like she knew that the more simply she said it, the more it would get to him.

Her careless tone and word choice caused him to openly hesitate. His brows knitted together in a thoughtful wince and his grip on her tightened for a fraction of a second... before he gently dropped his fierce hands away from her shoulders.

He looked genuinely deep in thought, with his eyes glazed over as they bored into the make-do rug below their feet. Something within Eleanor began writhing and poking around her chest, like her heart was nothing but an ignorant child's rag-doll.

Eleanor sighed, truly defeated inside as she watched him be consumed by his thought patterns. She couldn't resist at least  _apologising_ to him, what she'd said had certainly been overly harsh. Even if it did have an element of  _truth_ to it.

"Look, I'm sor - "

Her words cut off when he swiftly angled himself to face her better, his head pranging back up so that his mischievous black eyes could stare up at her. The way he looked at her made no sense - was he not  _upset_ with her?

He leaned towards her even more, so that their noses brushed and his breath tickled her lips.

"Kiss me." he ordered in a teasing whisper, his mouth curling slightly at the corners and his eyes bearing those knowing glints that she never trusted fully. When she didn't intend to follow his wishes after a few seconds had passed, he inhaled deeply through his nose and brought his face even closer to her. He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.

She let out a gasp when she felt one of his hands take hold of her palm in a gentle action. She swallowed as his thumb lightly grazed across the back of her knuckles... what was he trying to do?

"Kiss me." he repeated, his gruff voice breaking through his breath slightly.

This time she found no reason to resist, and complied entirely. She completed the rest of the small gap between them, causing their mouths to collide in a nonchalant kiss. She was the one that began to deepen their kiss once she felt his arms wrapping around her waist - it was like he was used to the fact that she often needed support since she would sometimes end up toppling over.

She moaned into his mouth, allowing him to completely take hold of her attention. She felt one of his arms fall away from her side and she murmured in confusion when she felt his hot palm press over the skin of her right hand. She wanted to open her eyes in order to try and work out what he was doing, but the art of his distraction was too cunning - she couldn't stop reacting to his lips, and the way he held her heart captive was so wonderfully criminal.

He moved her hand upwards, guiding it towards his chest, where he soon paused, ensuring that her fingertips were laid flat. She started to furrow her brow when she sensed him slowing their kiss in order to part away from her. He did however, meet her gaze of rejection once her eyes immediately opened at his lack of contact.

Her mouth opened slightly and he couldn't have her ruining the moment so he squeezed her hand tightly, purposely pushing down on it so that she could feel the ferocious thudding of his apparent heart. His black eyes were somehow softer than she was used to, and her own eyes faltered, feeling each vibration of his heartbeat through to the bones of her fingers.

"See?" he finally breathed, wearing the most sincere expression she had seen from him in quite a while. "Not so  _heartless_  after all."


End file.
